The Taming of the Mole
by D McVetty
Summary: Gregory and Wendy are happy together, and Mole should be happy for them. When Stan Marsh comes into the picture, Mole begins to see things a little differently. But its just a job, right? Wendy/Christophe crack pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**intro ;;** This is a creepy little side-project that I came to enjoy greatly. Due to limited internet access, it will be updated on a random basis. The whole start to this was realizing I hadn't seen any Wendy/Mole romances, and the story just popped into my head. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are always loved, especially on strange projects like this. ~

_Previously titled "Nodding Trillium", though I'm unsure if anyone got the reference._

* * *

Smoke curled towards the sky, glowing bright in a ray of sun as it left the shadow of the building. Casually leaning against the wall, Christophe watched the grade-school kids as they flocked around the playground equipment. Irritated and bored, he took a long drag on his quickly-dwindling cigarette. Lunch period had become his smoke break in the hell that was life. Kenny joined him when he could, and when he couldn't he was in the real Hell. If Christophe had his way, the Mercenary would never be confined to the eternal damnation of Satan again. His brief but torturous time in Hell had given him nightmares and a more impaired view on life, if that were even possible. Even his mother, who barely gave his personal life the time of day, had noticed a difference in his actions.

"What are you doing here, delinquent?" asked a feminine voice steeped in irritation.

Flicking his eyes over the newcomer, Christophe shrugged, smoke streaming from his lips. "Eets my smoke break," he answered.

"You know Mr. Mackey would have your hide if he knew you were out here," she said, crossing her arms.

"What ees eet you want, Wendy?" asked Christophe, tapping ash on the pavement under his feet, ignoring the threat. "I've never seen you out 'ere."

Moving and placing her hands on her hips, she scoffed. "Kenny told me where you guys hang out during lunch," she answered quickly. "Where's Gregory?"

Christophe stared into the playground, drawing on the cigarette as he thought. Often times, it seemed as if he'd forgotten the question or the conversation all together. His thoughts trailed and meandered, but he came to a conclusion almost immediately. It simply took him a while longer than most to put it into words, which became a trait of the great once-dead Mercenary that everyone hated.

"Christophe," Wendy reminded impatiently.

"Wendy, 'ow do you blow a smoke ring?" he asked, turning his head to face her, his dark brown eyes exuding mystery.

Wendy threw her hands up in exasperation. "I don't know!" she cried. "I just asked you where Gregory was!"

Christophe shrugged. "I do not know."

Wendy snorted in frustration. "Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "Right. I haven't seen him in three days, and you conveniently don't know where he is."

"I am not 'is babysitter." Pushing himself away from the wall, Christophe took the final drag of his cigarette and tossed it on the pavement, grinding it into the pavement beneath his combat boot. "Per'aps you should keep better track of 'im."

Wendy opened her mouth to protest, but Christophe patted her on the back as he walked by, leaving her speechless. By the time she had whirled around to face him, he was jumping the fence across the soccer field, another cigarette placed firmly between his lips.

...

Several hours later, Wendy sat in her room, barely on the edge of her bed, eyes glued to the phone. Homework on her desk hadn't been touched since she arrived home, saying hello to her mother and ducking up the stairs to wait for that single call. She'd done the same thing the last two days. Gregory never stayed far for long, it was uncharacteristic of him to vanish without a call. It left Wendy wondering if their relationship meant anything to him, though she could barely keep her eyes off the dashing young British exchange student.

She had even gone so far as to dump Stan when Gregory presented the opportunity. Apparently, Gregory had heard of her comment after the _La Resistance_ episode from some other students. He hadn't found it _"incredibly lady-like"_ for her to have said such a thing, but after several years, apparently he got over it. All men did at some point. Stan still pointed out her words, still pointed out their long-lasting relationship. He still stared at her in the halls, still tried to get her attention in class. He had moved up the ranks to the star quarterback of the high-school team. All the girls fawned over him, yet he still had eyes for only Wendy. She found it incredibly sad, while her best friend Bebe found it incredibly sweet. Wendy had mentioned more than once that Bebe ought to date Stan instead, but the blonde would blush deeply and stutter excuses _not_ to date the successful jock. Wendy still hadn't been able to figure it out, though she was far more preoccupied with Gregory than anyone else's life.

In the seven months of their relationship, Wendy hadn't grown bored of him. She'd only grown irritated with his vanishing tricks every week. Every time he came back with a present from some far-off land, but she cared less about the gift and more about the man leaving to get them. In a love-struck moment, she had not questioned his reasons for traveling. She'd given him made-up, unsaid excuses, such as simply having the money to do it or having family members to visit. Never had she suspected anything else. Why would a teenager travel the world, other than having family in far away places? Wendy surely didn't think about it, and didn't find it as important as her friends, who warned her she would get her heart broken.

The phone rang, and she pounced upon it, picking it up before it finished the first ring. "Hello?" she asked breathlessly.

A slurred voice greeted her. "Hello, Windy!"

"It's _Wendy_," she sighed.

"Oh. Is your dad home?"

"Sure, Jimbo," Wendy said, setting the corded phone on her desk and walking to her door. She leaned out the frame, calling down the stairs, "Dad! Jimbo's on the phone!" Returning to her desk, she held the phone to her ear until she heard her father pick up, and the two started a conversation. She didn't question the reason Jimbo called, she just accepted it and waited impatiently until they got off the phone and Gregory called. _Surely_ he would call. It had been three days. Any longer, and Wendy would have to give him up for dead.

Deciding that her father would be on the phone for a while longer, she sat at her desk, pulling a Biology paper from the pile and setting the tip of the pen against paper. The first question gave her a headache, so she set the pen down and pulled down a sociology paper that had been graded the day before. She read over her introduction, spotting errors her teacher hadn't, and with mild disdain, she wrote with red pen where she deemed the words illogical. Halfway through the second page, her father knocked on her door. Without looking up, she called him in. The door creaked open, though he didn't say anything. After a moment, Wendy looked up.

"Gregory!" she cried in excitement, throwing the pen down and pushing herself out of her chair. "Where have you been?"

Stepping forward, a smile on his face and hands behind his back, Gregory looked to the window before looking back to Wendy. "I've been in Budapest," he said. His pressed, pale orange shirt bore no stains or sign of wear, and his casual black slacks were lint-free. His sleek blonde hair, combed neatly, shone in the dim light from Wendy's desk lamp.

Wendy kept herself from hugging the British teenager, instead standing in front of him and staring him over. "You went all the way to Budapest?" she asked.

Bringing his hands from behind his back, he presented her with a beautiful bouquet of glass flowers, delicate and thin as the real thing. Changing the subject in a moment, he said, "These are for you, darling."

"Oh, Gregory, you shouldn't have!" she said, taking the flowers carefully, setting the vase on the desk. Their clear colors reflected the light, casting multi-colored shadows over her floor. "They're lovely," she said. "Thank you." She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He was much taller than her now, perhaps a foot taller, and it made her feel safe to be next to him.

Gregory pulled his trademarked black gloves off, tucking them into his back pocket and flattening them. "You're welcome," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I know I should have, I was simply too busy."

Wendy smiled giddily. "No, there's nothing to be sorry about," she said. "You came back and you're here now, so everything's okay."

Gregory's eyes flickered to the window again, and a frown crossed his face. His arms slackened, and he let her go, walking briskly to the pane of glass. Wendy's concerned questions fell on deaf ears as Gregory peered into the dark of the night. Slightly agitated with the unknown interruption, he diverted his attention to the lock on her window. Flicking it, he turned around. "Your window was unlocked," he said, the disgruntled look never leaving his face, voice mechanical and distant. "It may let a draft inside."

Wendy laughed, seeming not to catch the oddness in his voice, taking his hand and leading him to the edge of her bed. "A draft would be nice. My mother likes the house warm," she said, sitting down and pulling Gregory next to her. "What did you do? What is Budapest like? I've heard its _so _romantic," she said dreamily.

Gregory frowned, no doubt thinking of the places he had gone. Flickering emotions of disgust passed almost invisible over his face. Finally, he put his arm around Wendy's shoulders and smiled. "It's rather beautiful at night," he said. "During the day, it is as any other city."

"I've only ever seen South Park, really," Wendy said. "Anywhere has to be more beautiful than here."

Brushing hair from Wendy's face, he smiled gently. "No, my love, you're here. That makes South Park the most beautiful place I've been to."

"You're just saying that," Wendy said, a blush falling across her cheeks.

Gregory placed a delicate kiss on her lips, lingering long enough to leave Wendy breathless. He smiled, running a hand along her cheek. "No, I mean it," he said quietly. "You're far too beautiful, Wendy."

Flustered and growing red, Wendy quickly changed the subject. "Can you stay a while? I'm sure my father wont-"

"Alas, I have things to do and people to see. I've been away and I've missed my homework."

"Oh!" Wendy pulled away from Gregory, jumping to her feet to grab papers from the dresser. "I collected your homework for you and labeled each one according to due date. That way you wont miss anything else, unlike last time." She pressed the papers into the comforter next to Gregory, a shy smile on her normally confident face. In Gregory's palm, she melted.

His hand brushed her hair back, those brilliant sparkling sapphires alight with joy. "You're too sweet," he said, kissing her gently, almost melting her to the floor. "I have a surprise for tomorrow, I do hope you can miss your study session."

"Of course," Wendy said eagerly. Anyone else would be met with hostility and a backhand, though Gregory asking her to skip study was almost akin to her parents asking her to clean her room. Simple and direct, with little room for negotiation, not that Wendy would negotiate with Gregory in anything less than their wedding location. She could be dangerously possessive, but her obsession with Gregory grew more each day, bringing her ex-boyfriend to worry about her sanity.

"Good," Gregory said. "I'll see you after school. I have much to do and little time to do it." He stood up, grabbing his papers and organizing them neatly. Everything about the man was neat, from his hair to his shoes. His clothing remained pressed and clean whenever appearing in public. Pearly white teeth were straight, eyebrows were trimmed in just the right way to remain manly, yet not look like caterpillars fighting over his nose. With a gentle parting kiss, he left the room, moving swiftly down the stairs, saying his goodbyes to the Testaburger parents, generously thanking them and promising to come over for Sunday brunch. The family was proper and nice - the way Gregory liked them, even if they were rather poor for his elegant taste.

Closing the door behind him, he walked into the crisp night air, feeling the moisture of the snow press against his face and his bare hands. Absently folding the papers, he tucked them in his back pocket as he pulled his gloves out, slipping his slender fingers inside the familiar warmth the black leather provided. Looking up, his eyes glossed over the dark Mercenary leaning against the fence. Wearing his issued army clothing, no doubt from his father -whoever that was- the French teenager stood in shadows, given away only by his constant outpouring of smoke.

Clearing his throat, Gregory stopped in front of the teen. "Must you follow me _everywhere_?" he asked.

Christophe shrugged, tapping ash into the grass.

"You're quite nosey."

"Eet's what I do."

Gregory sighed and kept walking, hearing Christophe fall into step behind him. "You blew my cover nicely. What _were_ you doing at the school?" he demanded of his otherwise silent shadow. "You know Wendy thinks I'm with _you_ when I leave."

Christophe took a moment to reply, no doubt puffing on his cigarette. Sighing, he said dryly, "Smoke break witzh McCormick.'E didn't show."

Gregory rolled his eyes at the melodramatic Mercenary. "Are you gay?" he asked, turning around to cock an eyebrow.

Christophe looked the revolutionist over and scoffed. "You wish."

"It simply appears to be a _gay_ thing of you to do."

Christophe snorted, blowing smoke in Gregory's face. "You know 'ow to keep 'er wrapped around your finger."

Gregory turned, kept walking. The wild and outlandish tricks of his French comrade wouldn't get the best of him. "She's pretty."

"A pretty face does not mean much. Not to you."

Gregory sighed, throwing his hands up. "What is it you want?" he asked. "I've given you jobs. I told you, its rather slow right now."

Christophe leaned closer, a feral grin on his handsome face. "I want what you 'ave," he answered, smoke billowing from his parted lips. "I want to know what eet ees like."

Startled for a moment, the revolutionist felt his mouth gape open, his eyes staring blankly. Quickly regaining composure, he cleared his throat and straightened his back. "You're nothing but a rogue," he said offhandedly. "To think Wendy would want _anything_ to do with you is a severe miscalculation on your part, my friend." Seeming to grow upset at the thought, Gregory snorted and turned, walking briskly towards his house. This time, Christophe did not follow. The Mercenary stood in the center of the sidewalk, illuminated by the soft glow of street lamps reflecting off snow flakes. The cigarette between his lips glowed red against his dark shape, giving an eerie quality to the specter as he watched Gregory round a corner and disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

**info ;; **Totally sorry about the late update for anyone who was waiting. I do hope I've kept the attention of some people. This is quite the crack pairing, and I'm not sure how it will be received. I would love reviews, comments, and suggestions. Thank you for your time.

* * *

Christophe stood in the corner of the high school cafeteria.

Wendy spotted him as she left the line, carrying a tray laden with salad and a pre-packaged peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He stood without his trademark cigarette, leaning against the wall as if he belonged there, like a gargoyle. His eyes glossed over the cafeteria, flickering onto hers as she stared. Quickly averting her eyes, she took her usual seat next to the window, awaiting Bebe's arrival. Often, after math, Bebe was pestering nerds to give her their answers. Today, she must have been pressing unusually hard, because Wendy watched in horror as Christophe pushed himself from the wall and walked his casual, sensual walk towards her table. She put her face down, picking at her salad, as if it would deter the bold mercenary, but to no avail.

She'd never seen him before the war, but she'd heard the stories. Stan told her about the _"fucked up" _kid who died in Kyle's arms, forever scarring the daylights out of the Jewish boy. Everyone had felt strange after that, especially Kyle, who was unusually reserved whenever the subject of Christophe Moliere came up. Perhaps the death of the mercenary contributed to the reason he denied any further dates with girls after the incident. Even more so when the dead kid came back to school the very next week, toted behind one Kenny McCormick like a demented show-and-tell subject. Apparently the two were _best friends_ in hell. Kyle stopped talking to anyone once they hit High School, and he avoided every class the Mercenary had been in before he dropped out to pursue his dirty career. Wendy knew she didn't want a part of a once-dead kid who dropped out of high school. She was uncomfortable knowing so much as his real name, or his existence at all. It all made her incredibly squeamish.

Her discomfort only increased as the Mercenary placed his palms on the table, straight across from her, leaning in with his handsome, rugged features. For seventeen, he appeared much older, much wiser. Somehow, despite the unease, far more alluring than the other boys his age, and far more dangerous than any teenager in South Park High, including Cartman. Wendy would take Cartman over Christophe, _any day_.

"Wendy. 'Ello," Christophe purred, a smile plastered to his face.

She didn't speak, instead shoved a fork of food into her mouth. Chewing out of necessity, she felt her stomach roll as her nerves assaulted her from every side. The Mercenary leaned closer, head cocked to the side.

"Wendy," he said. "You are doing a project on women's rights, oui?" he asked.

She looked up sharply, gulping down the half-chewed food. "How did you know?" she asked suddenly.

Christophe's grin widened, the sheer enjoyment from his small victory evident on his face. "Gregory ees my friend, remember."

"Ugh, I didn't think he would _talk _to you about _me_," Wendy sighed in frustration. "So what if I'm doing a project on women's rights?"

"I can 'elp."

Wendy shook her head, holding a hand up. "No," she said. "No thanks, I can manage myself. I honestly don't like you. You creep me out."

Christophe's face turned sad, as if mocking the puppy-dog eyes people often gave to gain sympathy. "But _mon amie, comment pouvez-vous dire cela?_ I've done _notzhing_ to offend," he whispered, his dark eyes staring into Wendy's.

Where his French charms had worked on other girls, Wendy picked up her tray, glared at him, and stalked to another table.

Confused but not daunted, Christophe stayed back, wondering the best course of action now that Wendy had taken refuge among the unpopular crowd. He spotted Bebe moving through the lunch line, glopping food onto her tray in a mechanical manner. Everyone thought the woman had turned anorexic, but she ate more than Christophe. He was quite convinced she was bulemic, as he'd heard her several times in the girl's bathroom throwing up. No comment on _why _he was staking out the girl's restroom.

Appearing before Bebe as she exited the line, Christophe gave her a devilish grin. "Bebe, _mon cherie, '_ow 'ave you been?" he asked, following her closely as she moved towards her usual table. Before she made it outside the cafeteria kitchen, he side-stepped into her way, all business and none of the sweet, weedling Frenchman he'd acted all day. "I 'ave a proposition for you."

"Ew, you want to marry me?" Bebe asked, shocked. "Gross."

"No, _beetch_," he said in irritation. "I 'ave a _deal_ to make."

"What do you have that I might want?" Bebe asked, rolling her eyes.

Christophe shrugged, moving to block the door as the blonde tried to dodge out. "Shoes," he said. "Money."

He had her attention now.

She frowned. Not as wary of the mercenary as the rest of South Park, the blonde sighed and stopped trying to move around him. "What is it?"

Glad to hear the sound of a victory once more, Christophe shrugged, faking disinterest. "I want to date Wendy."

Bebe almost screamed. She put her hand over her mouth, a little gasp coming out. "As in _date, date_? Like, _boyfriend-girlfriend_ date?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Oui," Christophe said, leaning against the door frame. "As een _date, date."_

Bebe squealed in girlish excitement, almost dropping her tray. "Oh my god! This is so crazy! You're like, the biggest anti-romantic, _and_ she's dating your best friend!" Suddenly hushing down, she peered around to check that no one had overheard her or grown interested. "You're playing a sick game, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

Christophe shrugged. "I want what I want," he answered.

"What makes you think I'll help you? Wendy's my best friend and you're not exactly the safe type," Bebe said, giving him a skeptical look-over.

"I 'ave a 'undred dollars een my pocket," he said. "Eet's all yours, right now, _eef _you'll 'elp me."

The internal conflict of Bebe Stevens lasted only a second. Eyes gleaming, she nodded. "Deal. But I'm not making any promises. She's pretty happy with Gregory, you know."

"I know," he said mildly, pulling the hundred out and handing it to her. She grabbed it, but he didn't let it go. Staring at her, he lowered his voice. "Eef you breathe a word to _anyone_, I know where you live." Letting the bill go, his dark eyes watched her fold it into her pocket, smile on her face.

"Of course not," she said seriously, making an _x_ over her heart. "Cross my heart and hope to die and all that childish stuff."

Moving out of her way, he smiled smugly. "Eet won't be childish if you fuck me over."

...

Final Bell rang at three thirty, letting out swarms of South and North Park High students as they went their ways to the weekend. A big football game was set for Saturday, and plenty of jocks and cheerleaders had to get ready by decorating their cars with cheap window chalk and streamers. Legality was never an issue with the High School or the town, for that matter. Unless a mass lawsuit broke over the town, they didn't care one way or another what happened or who did what. As students peeled out of the parking lot, Wendy and Bebe stepped out of the front doors, the former laden with textbooks, the latter carrying her purse over her shoulder.

"_Where_ are you going to be?" Bebe asked incredulously.

"With Gregory," Wendy said. "He has something planned."

"But your _study session_!"

Wendy shrugged, a dreamy smile on her face. "It can wait, Bebe. Not everything is about books."

"With you it _is_," she protested. "Is there something wrong? Is Gregory ... are you guys -" Bebe stopped, jaw slack in amazement, her feet planted to the spot. "Are you two _having sex_?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

Wendy laughed. "No, we're not," she reassured her.

Bebe sighed in relief. "Oh, good."

Wendy stopped walking, hugging her books to her chest. Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed grumpily. "He's there," she said.

Bebe followed her friend's glare, noticing the dark-haired mercenary standing by his car. Probably his father's car, because he couldn't possibly afford a beautiful canary-yellow muscle car. Bebe didn't know her _cars_, but she knew what was expensive and what was mediocre. The yellow two-door car parked outside the school was of the first variety. Standing beside him, talking in hushed tones, Stan Marsh kept looking behind him as if he were being followed. Bebe found this incredibly odd, but she put it out of mind quickly. When Stan spotted them, he gave Christophe an awkward goodbye wave and started walking home. Christophe looked up to the pair of girls, blew smoke from his nose, and looked back down. Bebe considered aiming Wendy the other direction, but the hundred dollars in her pocket reminded her of the deal.

"He's so... so..." Wendy failed to bring the word to mind, stuttering over her sentence.

"Handsome?" Bebe offered, shrugging slightly as Wendy gave her an incredulous look.

"_Handsome_?" she asked. "You think he's _handsome?_ He's _dirty_!"

Sighing, Bebe walked down the stairs, purposely aiming Wendy towards the car. "This isn't fourth grade anymore," she said cautiously. "The hot-and-not list isn't in effect anymore."

"Tell me about it," Wendy said, shaking her head. "He doesn't sparkle with me."

"Well, I think he's handsome," Bebe said.

Wendy was about to say something, but Christophe interrupted, dropping the cigarette to the ground and scuffing it out under his boot. "Wendy," he said, popping open the door of his '83 GTO. "Would you like a ride?"

Turning her nose up, Wendy shook her head. "No, I would _not_ like a ride from you."

"Your 'ouse ees ten blocks from 'ere," Christophe pried. "And eet's cold out 'ere."

Stepping forward, Bebe smiled. "If you don't take the ride, I will," she warned.

"Bebe!" Wendy stared at her in confusion, wondering what got into the normally level-headed blonde.

"It's a nice car. And he's your boyfriend's best friend. Maybe this is part of Gregory's special surprise for today," she said.

Wendy glared, feeling trapped between a rock and a hard place. The hard place being the fragile line of best friends and boyfriends, and best friends of boyfriends. Finally giving up, she scoffed, moving toward the car. "I'll see you at school tomorrow," she told Bebe, shooting Christophe a death glare as she slid into the passenger seat of the _stunningly _beautiful vehicle. She'd never pegged Christophe for the type to take care of anything, but the car was mint and extraordinary.

Christophe smiled at Bebe, closing the door behind Wendy. He mouthed, _thank you_, to Bebe before going around the car to get in the drivers seat. After starting it up and pulling away from the curb, he looked at Wendy. "Eets not so bad, non?" he asked.

"You're a creep," Wendy responded.

Christophe grunted, arching his caterpillar eyebrows. Where Gregory's looked normal, Christophe's looked like two caterpillar had gotten into miracle grow and were fighting over his nose in an epic battle to the end. The French, as it were generally believed, didn't shave body hair. It _must _be true. As if sensing Wendy's mortified stare at his genetic crisis, he turned his attention to the road once more. After a moment of tense silence, he took a breath. "So, zhis relationship witzh Gregory," he started, testing the waters. "Eet ees serious, non?"

"Of course it's serious. Its not like I ... well I mean. ... wait, no, not serious like that!" Wendy protested, staring at Christophe with wide eyes and slack jaw.

"Zthen zhere ees still time to change your mind?" he asked.

Wendy glared daggers at the brash mercenary. "Stop the car," she said angrily, her fingers wrapping around the door handle. "Stop the car _right now_ or I'll..."

"You'll what?" Christophe asked curiously. "You'll tell on me? You'll hit me? I am not _afraid_ of you. Zhe opposite, really." He spotted the dangerous look on his female companion's face, and he smiled, drifting the car to the curb. "Of course, _mon cheri_, I wouldn't _dream_ of insulting you."

The second the car stopped, Wendy pushed the door open. "Don't talk to me again," she warned darkly, slamming the door shut behind her. Without giving the car a second look, she stormed away, no fuming under her breath. No doubt the cocky mercenary watched her walk away, and it only made her more frustrated that she _wanted _him to see her, _wanted_ him to watch her walk away. Why she cared about what the dirty teenager thought, she didn't know.

As she pushed the front door of her house open, she looked back, into the street, half expecting the dark mercenary to be standing at the end of her sidewalk. Instead, his car drifted past two blocks down the road, and he never looked her way. Frustrated, she slammed the house door behind her and threw her jacket on the floor.


End file.
